The Unknown Templar
by Crystal Night
Summary: The tale of one Templar's journey through the haunted lands of the Brecilian forest.


**The Unknown Templar**

The entire sodding forest was mad! Its corruption, a slight to the Maker. It had grown as twisted and blackened as the vile creatures that lived within her and should be razed to the very ground before its infection spreads further into Thedas.

He wanted nothing more than to be gone from this place at once. North. He needed to keep moving north. He squinted up through the thick treetops to the pale sky above trying to judge his current direction, his naked blade catching what little light the forest allowed through its branches and casting bright splashes of colour on the passing trees.

This was maddening. Ser Douglas was the one who had always kept them on the trail. He had always kept them heading in the right direction no matter the situation. They never got turned around when he took point and no mage was able to out step them with him in the lead. He missed Ser Douglas.

Two days back he had realized that he had been walking in circles... Had it really only been two days? Yes, that was right. It was two days ago that he had realized he was completely lost within the Brecilian forest with no clues as to where he was headed. He had prayed to the Maker then. He had asked the great prophet Andraste to show him the pathway back to the light and out from the shadows that pressed in around him from this a cursed forest.

He swung around at the sound of a breaking branches, sword at the ready. Was it the trees again? He turned around at the sound of a foot fall behind him but the path lie empty. "Come out! Show yourself!" He called into the gloom. Another noise behind him. They were coming closer, planning on finishing him off like they had the others.

Together, the three of them had been making good progress and should have been able to catch their prey before the following midday. Ser Douglas had bedded down at camp with them that night. Ser Nicolis was on first watch and after dinner he took to pacing around the edges of their camp fire's light not wishing to venture into the darkness beyond. He was uneasy within this forest. He called it unnatural. Something in the air, he explained, wandering spirits.

It had seemed like any other forest, in the beginning. It had its wolves, its bears and its elves. The trees had grown closer the deeper they pressed on and the pathways more narrow. Their armour hindered them then. Full plate allowed for little movement among the low hanging branches but they had a mission to complete and they would see it through to the end.

It was midnight when Ser Nicolis moved to wake Ser Douglas for his turn at watch to find him gone from his bedroll. They had checked the woods around their small camp, called out to him in the darkness. They had waited together by the dying embers and through the growing daylight for him to return, not wanting to miss him if had he only gotten turned around after watering the trees in the night.

Daylight showed them no further clues as to the whereabouts of their missing comrade. No signs of a struggle. No lingering feelings of magic in the air. No, it was as if he had just risen from his bedroll and disappeared into the night.

It was midday before they decided to continue in their quest. There was a chance that they might find Ser Douglas along the way. Maybe he had just continued on the path, even if he was not the type to normally do so alone. Maybe they would find him at the Chantry when they returned or maybe he was already dead. They did not know and could spare no more time to find their missing brother. The longer they waited, the further their query moved into the woods.

He turned again. They were drawing closer, all around he felt them like buzzing bees inside his head along his skull. They had taken his brothers and wished to take him as well, but he was not going to allow them. Not without a fight. He adjusted his grip on his sword, his eyes moving along the shifting shadows. "Cowards..." He growled through clenched teeth. The trees overhead loomed closer. Another sound behind him had him spinning.

After three more days there had been no signs of Ser Douglas. They sent a prayer to the Maker for his lost soul and continued onwards. They had enough supplies for another week. They would continue their mission and complete their duty and would do so in honour of their missing friend.

On that eve the trees came to life. Blood magic. Filthy maleficarum. Had their query turned to the dark arts, fearing their presences drawing ever nearer? Twisted branches, they looked down upon them with knotted wood faces, their roots like snakes as they pulled themselves from the ground. They groaned mournfully like bending wood in a strong sea wind as they lumbered towards them.

They drew back, shields held high and swords drawn. How did one fight the forest? Shoulder to shoulder they hacked back at the leafy limbs that threatened to pound them into the dirt under their feet. Trees did not feel pain, although these ones bled thick red blood that ran in rivers and slickened their swords.

"We need to move past!" Ser Nicolis jumped to the right as a monstrous knotted branch slammed into the earth. "Find the mage!" He commanded.

Throughout the fight there had been no signs of the mage however. Surely the spell would break if they drew too far from the fight to control their puppets... but Ser Nicolis was correct, they needed to move past this living barrier. They needed to continue on and halt this foul use of the Maker's gift.

Seeing his chance, he dodged between two of the living trees as one moved to crush him with another downwards swing. Armoured foot catching on a root, he landed heavily face first into the dirt. Behind him, Ser Nicolis, called out.

Flipping himself onto his back, he barely missed the spear of branches aimed his way. The anguished cry of his brother said his friend was no as lucky. Raising to his feet as fast as he could, he was helpless to aid his fellow Templar as the tree attacking him pulled back to stab at him again. Ser Nicolis' sword fell from his hand, his arm hanging useless at his side, blood dripping from the gaps within his armour plating. He had then dropped his heavy shield to the ground near his own, lost when he dove around the enemies. Reaching for the pendant around his neck, Ser Nicolis broke its leather tie with a quick tug. "Take it!" Throwing it between the attacking trees, it landed at his feet.

Plucking it from the dirt, he bowed his head to his brother in arms. He would carry on. He would see this through. Sword in hand, he dashed along the path.

The following morning he took the last of the lyrium, the rest of the supplies having been within Ser Nicolis' pack, now lost amongst the trees. He would have to finish this quickly. With the mage's phylactery in hand he was confident that he would be able to complete his mission. In the name of the Maker, he would see this mage run through for the lives he had taken!

Another two days and he was lost.

He had blamed it for the attacks at first. Thought that if he gave the phylactery back then the mage might halt in its attempts. That maybe it would let him go. Maybe they would let the forest sleep as it should. Maybe they were using it to lure him into these wicked traps where the trees came to life and the spirits whispered darkly through the Veil. He had thrown the wicked thing into the trees. "Take it!" Creatures had scurried back into the shadows at his cry.

He found the mage's minions that eve. They laughed and howled while he cowered on the hill side. Unnatural wolves twisted into the shapes of men, in league with demons no doubt. He would report this to the Grand Cleric, she would see these foul creatures removed from the Maker's sight. Of that, he was sure.

He took a swing at the nearby tree to keep it at its distance but he felt himself growing weak. "You will not take me!" He cried out to the foes surrounding him. The shadows of demons moved and swayed just out of reach. "I have not your acorn nor shall you have my soul!" The fog was growing thicker in his mind, it was getting harder to think, harder to raise his sword.

The sound of rushing water was growing louder now, the terrain under foot steeper. He continued to lash out but his vision was growing dark. "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt... and the wicked..." He grit his teeth through the white hot pain that flared behind his eyes. Staggering, he leaned on his sword. "And do not falter..."

He glared hard the demons, sweat dripping from his brow as he drew himself back up onto his feet. "Blessed are the peacekeepers..." He would take them then. He would take them and they would be judged. "The champions of the just." With the last of his strength, he charged forward. "Maker take you!"

The battle was a blur and even so, three demons hovered over him now. He knew he would be at the Maker's side soon. As soon as one of these demons came to a decision to finish him off and stopped their rambling. It was hurting his head. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the words of the Chant to ease the pain. "Blessed are the righteous... the lights... in the shadow..."

Leaning back on the balls of his feet, the elven hunter looked to his kinsmen. "Shall we leave him? He is near his end." Large earthen eyes took in the sight of the man's waxen skin and glossy eyes. The elf wrinkled his nose at the rotten smell of festering flesh and unwashed skin.

The man on his back continued with his murmured ramblings. "One world... one life..."

"We should bring him to the Keeper." The hunters turned to regard their fair haired brother standing some ways back from the prone human. The elf stiffened under their combined gaze. "He might not be beyond our help yet. I am sure the humans would be most grateful to have their Templar back." He reasoned. It would not hurt to foster some good will between themselves and the humans in the area. (Their Chantry hold grant power over their people, so the Keeper tells.)

"You would see an armed shemlen amongst our kin, Deygan?" The older hunter took a quick step closer. "Do not forget why we are here!" He loomed over the younger hunter.

Deygan took a step back, placing more space between himself and their leader. He had not forgotten their task. Their own kin lay dying of a curse they had no cure for. Even still... His eyes lingered on the human.

The older hunter continued. "Halam sahlin, Deygan! I have had enough of your shemlen sympathies." His gaze was hard and the younger elf withered slightly under it. "We move on. Leave him." Brushing between the two hunters, he moved to scout the path ahead.

Deygan watched his fellow hunter remove his dagger from his belt before he turned his large eyes to meet his own. There was an understanding there that Deygan was heartened to see from his fellow hunter. "I will make it clean." He could only nod in response but did not look away as the hunter brought his blade smoothly across the human's throat.

His eyes went wide and his voice failed him but he felt no pain. The Maker's light would take him from this place and he would be at His side. He had had enough of this place.  
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><p>Authors Note: On my most recent play though of Origins, I came across the body of a Templar in the Brecilian with nothing on his person. I found myself thinking, 'I wonder what happened to him'. The other bodies I had looted had always seemed to hold some form of a clue as to whom they had been or why they had been where they were. Why was this one unnamed Templar all alone in the forest? I hope you enjoyed my tale.<p> 


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